


Five Times Bucky Took Care of Steve

by lonelystar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Established Relationship, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Self-Harm, Well eventually, abuse of commas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelystar/pseuds/lonelystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and the one time it was the other way around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Bucky Took Care of Steve

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely Lorien as a secret santa present. Hope this was (at least kind of) what you wanted!

1\. 1927  
The school bell rang for the end of the day and Steve raced out of the classroom, his leather bag slung over his shoulders and his books tucked against his chest. He burst through the front doors and ran down the concrete stairs, turning sharply and moving quickly down the street. It was the start of summer break and all the other elementary school kids were rushing out of the school, whooping and hollering and rough-housing with their friends. The hot June sun beat down on all of them, the sky clear and the air pleasant with a warm breeze.  
  
Steve knew he had gotta get to the playground fast if he wanted to be able to get on the good swings. He’d promised his ma he would only spend a few minutes there before coming home, so he had to make it count. He narrowly dodged a woman carrying her baby, spinning himself around and nearly losing his balance. There were a few boys running ahead of him, but considering the tightness in his chest, Steve didn’t think he could go any faster. Now was not the time to work himself into an asthma attack.  
  
Finally, after what felt like forever, he rounded the corner that opened up to a small playground. It had a place for playing kickball and a rusted jungle gym in the corner, but he made a beeline straight for the swings. They were old and splintering with squeaky screws, but it was the only one in town, so it was good enough for him.  
  
Steve dropped his books and his bag by the pole that supported the structure and pulled himself up on the nearest swing. He landed with a wince, the hot black plastic warming his backside. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his breathing after running for a couple of block. Steve knew his mom would be mad as ever if she had to take him to get an asthma shot just because he had worked himself up over getting to the playground first. A few minutes passed before he took in a breath and it wasn’t rattling in his chest.  
  
There were a few other people at the playground now, most of them over by the field organizing a game. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t like playing with the other kids from his school, it was just that it usually ended with someone making fun of him, Steve swinging at them, and Steve walking away with a bloody nose. After the third time he came home with a black eye, Sarah, his ma, had put a stop to it.  
  
Now, Steve kicked off the ground, swinging his body forward. He bent his legs on the way back and kicked out again, enjoying the gentle breeze ruffling his hair. His face broke into a grin, two missing teeth and all.  
  
He only got a couple moments to himself before a group of boys walked up to Steve and kicked at his brown bag. They looked to be only a year or two older than him, maybe 5th or 6th grade. Even so, they looked to have at least a good four inches on Steve, and, by the way they were circling him, Steve could tell the boys had every intention of using their advantages.  
  
“Hey, stop it!” Steve shouted at the blond one who kept knocking his foot against Steve’s bag. He jumped off the swing, both hands balled into fists.  
  
“Who’s gonna make me?” the boy taunted, his boot coming down hard on Steve’s books. He left a dirty footprint there, and Steve ran forward, his face burning red.  
  
Steve leaned back and swung at the kid, and his fist connected hard with his gut. The boy grabbed his stomach and stumbled back, gasping for breath. Steve couldn’t help but smirk, proud of his hit. He moved forward again and punched the boy square in the mouth.  
  
Suddenly, there was a sharp push against his back and Steve went tumbling face-first into the dirt. He looked behind him and saw the boy’s friends standing over him, crooked smiles on their faces.  
  
“What, you gonna cry?” the one with freckles mock-whined. “Cry to your mama, Rogers!” The boy kicked out, catching Steve in the ribs. Steve coughed violently, a sharp pain blooming in his chest.  
  
The third boy-- only an inch or two taller than Steve, but at least fifty pounds heavier-- reached down and yanked Steve up by his shirt collar. Steve stumbled to his feet, trying his best to catch his footing. Before he could steady himself, though, the same boy threw his fist in a violent punch that connected with Steve’s cheek and sent him tumbling back onto the ground. All three of the kids were above Steve now, a weak bruise coloring one of their faces where Steve had landed a hit. Steve pushed himself to his feet and spit on the ground, nearly missing their polished black shoes.  
  
“‘S that all you got?” Steve goaded, jutting out his chin  
.  
Their faces quickly changed to anger, and Steve braced himself for another hit, but it never came. Instead, a boy with dark brown hair ran up behind them and grabbed two of the bullies by the back of their hair, yanking them backwards. The new kid swung his fists, landing solid punches on the other two boys and definitely giving the one a good shiner.  
  
“Scram!” he told them, his voice loud in the quiet of the afternoon. “Go pick on someone your own size!”

To Steve’s surprise, they actually listened, and before he knew it, it was just him and the boy and Steve’s dirty school books. They stared at each other for a few beats, until the boy wiped his forehead with his sleeve and stuck out his right hand.  
  
“Hi. My name’s James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, a smile on his face like he hadn’t just been this close to getting his teeth knocked out.  
  
Warily, Steve took his hand, his grip weak. “Steve Rogers,” he returned.  
  
“Are you okay?” the boy-- James-- asked, furrowing his brows. Steve rubbed a hand over his chest, knowing there would be be a nasty bruise there come morning. James looked concerned for Steve, which Steve didn’t really understand, especially since they had just met. “Come ‘ere, you look pretty bad.”  
  
“M’fine,” Steve protested, but didn’t put up a fight when James pushed him back onto the swing. “James, I’m okay.”  
  
“My friends call me Bucky,” he said, pulling out a handkerchief and lightly dabbing at the fresh blood on Steve’s split lip. Steve winced at the sting but didn’t pull back. He already felt embarrassed enough, with this kid coming to his rescue and all. He didn’t need the other boy to think he was weak, too.  
  
“I’m your friend?”  
  
“I guess you are now,” Bucky shrugged, tucking the cloth back into his pocket. He helped Steve up and bent down, picking up his books. Steve reached for his bag before Bucky could get to it, annoyed the other boy was carrying his books; there was no way he’d let this kid treat him like his crush and carry his books and leather bag for him. Bucky glanced at Steve, a knowing look on his face, before he said, “I don’t go pickin’ fights for just nobody.”  
  
They fell into easy conversation after that, talking about school (Bucky was a year older than Steve) and teachers (they both shared the same math instructor, Mrs. Jones, who all the boys thought was _real_ pretty) and their favorite baseball team (Dodgers, of course). Bucky walked Steve to his place, where they found out they lived on the same block, only a few buildings down from one another.  
  
“Thanks, Bucky,” Steve said, a smile on his face as he started walking up the stairs to his apartment. He knew his ma would be furious with him, but he just hoped the news that he had actually made a friend would soften her up.  
  
“‘Course. Wasn’t gonna let those bullies get to you too bad,” Bucky grinned, handing the books over to Steve. He paused halfway up the stairs, turning to hear with his good ear what Bucky was saying. “Wanna come over tomorrow? We have a really cool bike I can show you.”  
  
“If my ma’s not too mad at me, then sure,” Steve said, hefting the books higher onto his hip.  
  
Bucky’s grin grew wider at that, and he winked at Steve quickly. Steve smiled right back at him; Bucky’s smile was kind of contagious. “Great!” Bucky exclaimed, walking back towards the street. “See ya around, Stevie!” he called over his shoulder.  
  
Then he was gone, rounded the corner of Steve’s building, and Steve couldn’t help but race up the stairs, all too excited to tell his ma about the day he’d had.  


2\. 1932

It hadn’t been this bad in a while, maybe ever.  
  
Steve lay on the bed in his and his ma’s shoddy two-room apartment. He had a thin blanket draped over him, even though he was sweating. He was going through periods of chills and hot flashes, so he was shirtless underneath the covers. A half-empty glass of water sat on the table beside him, forgotten in his feverous state.  
  
He felt a cool hand press against his forehead. Steve arched his back, trying to get closer to the soothing touch, but all too soon it was replaced with a wet cloth. Steve sighed and laid back down, forcing himself to accept the substitute. He always craved touch when he was sick, but his ma had work and his pop was long dead and Bucky had a life outside of taking care of his friend. So, Steve had to make do most of the time. Which really wasn’t fine by him, but since it had to be, he guessed it was.  
  
“Stevie? Hey, you in there?” Steve turned his head to the right and was surprised to see Bucky had pulled up a chair and was sitting by his bed. He had his chin rested on one of his hands, and his knees were bouncing nervously. Steve wished he could reach over and place his hand on Bucky’s thighs, calm him down, but when he tried to move he just sent himself into another fit of violent coughs.  
  
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Bucky soothed, taking Steve’s hand in his. Bucky was always a tactile person, but the intimacy they shared when he was worried about Steve was something else entirely. As much as he hated being sick like he was, especially the fact that it scared him half to death when he couldn’t quite shake some things, Steve lived for the small moments when Bucky let his guard down like that.  
  
Bucky rubbed his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. They stayed like that for a few moments, lost in the sound of each other's’ breathing. Steve turned fitfully, but Bucky just kept hold of his hand, keeping him steady.  
  
“All the girls miss you at school, you know,” Bucky said finally, tilting his head and meeting Steve’s eyes. Bucky’s were dull and shadowed with smudges of the blue-black of too little sleep, and it made Steve’s heart ache. “So you gotta come back real soon, ‘fore they all go crazy without ya.”  
  
That was how Bucky got through the worst of it. He’d talk to Steve like everything was alright, like all Steve had to do was cough it out and he’d be fine. Steve didn’t really mind, even played along.  
  
“I bet,” Steve croaked out, voice wrecked from sickness. “‘Sides, you ain’t good enough to take my place.”  
  
Bucky’s face cracked into a grin, and he huffed out a laugh, ducking his head as he squeezed Steve’s hand. He shook his head, and Steve couldn’t quite see his friend’s face, but he heard the strain in his voice when he said, “Damn right I ain’t.”  
  
They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound in the room Steve’s heavy breathing and the occasional creak of the building. Distantly, Steve could hear the water running in the floor’s shared bathroom, and hoped whoever was in there wouldn’t use all the hot water _again._ Steve was actually looking forward to taking a warm bath soon.  
  
After a while Bucky cleared his throat and dropped Steve’s hand. Steve tucked it back under the covers, wishing he could keep touching Bucky. He curled up on himself, sudden chills raising goosebumps along his skin.  
  
“Sarah said she’d be home late tonight, so I guess it’s just you and me for now,” Bucky said, pushing himself off the chair. “You hungry? I think I’m gonna make some dinner.”  
Steve nodded his head slightly. “We got bologna and beans.”  
  
“Guess it’s casserole night.” Bucky was halfway out the room, but he paused, turning back to look at Steve one more time. Steve knew he probably looked pathetic; he was skin and bones wrapped in a sweat-drenched sheet, a shivering mess. But he also knew Bucky didn’t care, had probably seen him worse, anyway. “Ya need anything?”  
  
Steve shook his head, muttered out a quick “no”. Bucky nodded back at him and left the room, leaving the door cracked to keep the air circulating.  
  
Steve found it easy to drift into sleep after that, the cool cloth on his forehead helping when his body started to overheat. He shifted in bed a few times, kicking off his socks before pulling them back on a moment later. It only seemed like a few minutes before Bucky came into the room, two plates in this hands with a glass of water tucked against his side.  
  
“Okay, I _might_ have burned this,” Bucky said, setting their food down on the bedside table. He reached behind Steve and grabbed him under his arms, lifting him into a sitting position. “But we’re gonna have to make do, cuz I’m too spent to try again.”  
  
“You’re tired?” Steve asked, shifting in bed and propping himself up on a pillow. Guilt washed over him; he knew that Bucky worked himself ragged between his job at the grocer’s and school, and he could only imagine how much taking care of a sick best friend was taking out of him. He leaned back against the bed frame as Bucky placed the food in his lap. Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the smell of his ma’s best recipe comforting. After his nap he honestly felt a lot better, and it seemed like his fever was coming down, too. He was more aware of his surroundings again, and there wasn’t a headache fogging up his mind.  
  
“Nah, I’m fine.” They both knew it was a lie. Still, Steve dropped it, knowing that if he pressed anything further Bucky would probably just get mad. They ate in silence for a while, until the scraping of their forks against their plates was the only sound that filled the room.  
  
“If you’re still hungry, I can get you more--”  
  
Steve scooted over and pat the empty space beside him. “Just c’mere, you big lump.”  
  
“Aw, Steve, no,” Bucky said, biting the inside of his lip. “‘M good, really.”  
  
“Bucky,” Steve deadpanned, a frown pulling at his face. “You take care of me all the time. Least I can do is let you get some shut-eye once in awhile.”  
  
Bucky fidgeted in his seat before sighing and resting his knees on the small bed. He moved over and sat beside Steve, back against the headboard. “Only cuz I don’t want you to get all worked up when you’re sick,” he said, which was probably true, but at least it got Bucky some rest.  
  
“Better?” Steve asked, spreading the blanket out so it covered the both of them. Bucky leaned down and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder, the line of their bodies pressing against each other. Steve tried to pretend that this was for Bucky, that he was just trying to give his friend a break, but. The feel of Bucky’s body so close to his own felt too good for Steve to lie to himself like that.  
  
Bucky ignored him, instead reaching up with the back of his hand and pressing it against Steve’s forehead. “I think your fever’s gone. How ya feelin’?”  
  
“Better, actually. You got some magic hands there, Barnes.”  
  
Bucky blushed at that, and it was only then that Steve realized how that probably sounded. Luckily, his embarrassment was hidden by the sickness still coloring his cheeks. A beat passed between them, and then Bucky looked over, a smirk on his face.  
  
“Do I now?”  
  
“Shut up, ya jerk,” Steve said, jabbing Bucky in the side with his elbow. Bucky laughed, and Steve couldn’t help but think it was a bit like looking into the sun.  
  
Steve turned to face him, and suddenly their faces were very, very close, and Steve could feel Bucky’s breath mixing with his own. Bucky’s eyes were trained on Steve’s lips, one hand gripping just below his elbow. Steve’s mind went blank, and for a moment the only thing he could smell or think or hear or feel was _Bucky.  
_  
Because this was what Bucky did to him, for him. Took care of him even when he hated it, was there for him through it all.  
  
He almost leaned in. Almost closed the distance between them. Almost said “fuck it” long enough to press their lips together for just a moment. But then they heard the front door open, and the shuffle of feet against carpet, and Bucky turned away.  
  
“Your ma’s home,” Bucky whispered, as if that explained everything.  
  
Steve just shook his head and tried not to think too hard about how good Bucky smelled or the blue of his eyes and, God, how had he never noticed that before? His hands itched for his sketchbook, wanting to capture whatever moment they had just shared. He just wanted to spend hours making sure the blue of Bucky’s eyes were just the right shade, that the tilt of his smile was captured perfectly.  
  
“Steve?” His ma called from the hallway, her footsteps right outside his door. Bucky quickly moved back to the chair, smoothing his hands down his legs.  
  
The door creaked open, and Steve smiled when he saw his ma. Her face was tired but happy, her blond hair in a messy ponytail. She looked rumpled and overworked and exhausted, and she was easily the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.  
  
“Hey, Ma,” Steve said, giving her a small smile. He nodded towards his friend’s chair. “Bucky’s here.”  
  
She cracked the door open wider and grinned at Bucky. “Hello, Bucky.”  
  
“Hi, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky answered politely. He was staring at his hands the whole time.  
  
“Did you boys eat dinner?” Steve’s ma asked, looking between the two of them. She rested her shoulder and hip against the doorframe, crossing her ankles and folding her arms.  
“Yeah, and Buck’s a real good cook,” Steve smiled at the blush that colored Bucky’s face.  
  
“Need anything else?” His ma said, then, “You seem to be doing much better, Steve. School tomorrow?”  
  
“As long as I don’t die in my sleep, I’mma go,” Steve tried to joke, but both his ma’s and Bucky’s faces immediately fell. They each looked sad and then angry, and started shouting at Steve nearly simultaneously. “Don’t you _dare_ talk like that, young man. Do you know how much I worry?” and “Steve, what the _hell_. Don’t say things like that!”  
  
“Okay, okay, sorry,” Steve mumbled. He really did feel bad as soon as he’d said it; Bucky and his ma gave him their everything to keep him happy and healthy, and all Steve did in return was crack bad jokes.  
  
Steve’s ma came in the room and pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead. She whispered that it was okay and she loved him, and, ruffling Bucky’s hair on the way out, she left the room.  
Bucky stared at him with a look in his eyes Steve couldn’t quite place. His ma didn’t usually make people nervous, especially not Bucky; once he’d admitted that Sarah was like a second mom to him, since Bucky’s was always busy with his younger siblings. But what was it then, if not his ma?  
  
When Steve opened his mouth to confront him, Bucky looked away and then back again just as quickly, his upset expression completely gone. Instead he looked calm and happy, even if the dark patches under his eyes and the way that his hands were curled into fists gave him away. A grin spread over his face.  
  
“Wanna play cards, Stevie? I got some dirty pin-ups I can bet,” he said, scooting closer and pulling the old stack of cards out from his bag where it was propped against Steve’s bed. “We could listen to the radio instead, if you want. Or I could help with homework.”  
  
“Buck,” Steve said, impatience in his voice. He really could be too much sometimes. “Just get over here.”  
  
“Okay,” Bucky said in return, then climbed on Steve’s bed where they spent the next few hours. They spent the time playing games where Steve always seemed to be one step behind.   


3\. 1936  
  
“Hey, Buck, you got the notes for math?” Steve asked, running a hand through his wrecked hair. They were laying on the floor, surrounded by textbooks and notes and packets and about three empty sleeves of biscuits that Steve’s ma had bought yesterday.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” his friend said, dropping his pencil and shuffling his papers. He pulled out a few odd ones and handed them over to Steve.  
  
“Thanks,” he returned, grabbing a pen to start on the chapter.  
  
It felt like they’d been studying for hours, maybe days, even, but Steve knew he couldn’t really afford a break. It was the finals of their senior year, and even if neither of them planned to go to college, it was the least they could do to try and end their high school career on a good note. ‘Sides, Steve thought, with better grades came better jobs, which came with better money, which came with a better life.  
  
After a few minutes Steve looked over the scribbles on the paper and cursed under his breath. “Okay, this is not helping.”  
  
Beside him Bucky laughed, rolling over onto his back and pressing his whole body against Steve. He shivered at the contact but didn’t shy away.  
  
“Listen, we’ve been going at this pretty steady,” Bucky said, “How about a breather?”  
  
Steve knew he should keep studying, should power through, but… him and Bucky hadn’t gotten much down time alone together in a while. And a five minute break couldn’t hurt, could it?  
“Fine,” Steve sighed, pushing himself up with his palms. He stood and raised his hands over his head, his back popping. Steve let out a soft groan and blushed when he saw Bucky looking at him, his friend’s lips slightly parted.  
  
“Uh, sorry,” Steve mumbled, and Bucky laughed.  
  
“Steve?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You’re a punk.”  
  
Steve grinned and lightly kicked Bucky with his shoe. The other boy stood up and twisted his back, stretching his muscles. “Yeah, whatever,” Steve said, and bumped Bucky with his hip. Bucky nudged him back, which threw Steve off balance, and then there they were, sprawled on Steve’s bed, their hips pressed together and Bucky hovering over him.  
  
“Uh,” Steve said.  
  
Bucky’s eyes were focused on Steve’s lips, and his cheeks were red. They were so close Steve could feel the heat radiating off of Bucky’s body, waves crashing over him. Everything was too hot, too close, and Steve felt feverous, delirious.  
  
“You still stressed?” Bucky asked, not moving away from Steve, just hovering over him. He leaned his head against Steve’s neck and pressed his lips over the pulse point, licking a stripe down his throat.  
  
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Steve answered, his voice small and breathy. What was he _doing?  
_  
“I could help with that,” Bucky whispered against Steve’s neck, rolling his hips against Steve’s to show just how exactly he was planning to _help._ Steve could feel the hard line of Bucky’s cock through their pants, and Steve’s own dick twitched at the thought. He couldn’t believe this was happening, right then and there. Of course, it wasn’t like Steve never thought about it; if he was being truthful, he’d been head-over-heels for his friend since they were fourteen. He just never thought anything would actually _happen.  
_  
“Um.”  
  
“C’mon, Stevie, it wouldn’t have mean nothin’,” Bucky said and gave another thrust of his hips, teasing Steve’s legs open with his own. “Just wanna make you feel good. Wanna take care of you.”  
  
“ _Buck,_ ” Steve breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. He felt his resolve falling. Bucky was his best friend after all; he trusted him with his life. Who says they couldn’t fool around a bit? Even if it meant nothing to Bucky, Steve would take it. “God, okay, yes. _Yes._ ”  
  
“Yeah?” Buck asked, though he was already moving off Steve, sliding down the length of his body and stopping at the buttons of his pants. He reached out and slipped the buckle of Steve’s belt out of the loops and tugged.  
  
“Yes, you jerk. Now c’mon, let me up,” Steve urged, squirming under his friend. Bucky moved back, watching as Steve sat up and tugged his own shirt off. Steve kicked off his pants and underwear, then layed back down against the pillows. There was something very dirty about being completely naked when the person he was with was still fully clothed, and a blush spread all the way down to his thighs. Fortunately, Bucky picked up on Steve’s discomfort and quickly got himself out of his clothes.  
  
“God, _Stevie,_ ” Bucky moaned, his hands reaching for Steve’s chest. Bucky ghosted his fingers over Steve’s skin, raising goosebumps where ever he touched. He rolled one of Steve’s nipples between his fingers and pinched, causing Steve to cry out sharply. His hips jerked up at the sensation, his cock hardening even further.  
  
“Bucky,” Steve whined. He arched into Bucky’s touch when the other boy gripped his sides. “Please.”  
  
“Shh, babydoll, it’s okay,” Bucky soothed, leaning down to suck a bruise against the jut of Steve’s hipbones. His mind was racing and on edge, and he could barely think past Bucky’s voice. As he moved down Steve’s body, Bucky said, “I’m gonna make you feel real good, yeah? Real good, baby.”  
  
Steve whimpered, throwing his head back against the bed and squeezing his eyes shut. Bucky was _right there_ , his breath ghosting over Steve’s stomach, his thighs, his hips, but never touching where Steve needed him most. They stayed that way for a few minutes, Bucky mouthing against the sensitive skin around Steve’s dick, the feeling pleasant but never enough.  
Finally, _finally,_ Bucky moved and pressed a kiss against Steve’s cock. His whole body twitched in response and a drop of precome leaked out. He shouted, the feeling of someone else’s body against his dick foreign and yet so, so good. Steve opened his eyes just in time to see Bucky tongue at his slit and wrap his lips around the head, suckling gently.  
  
“Fuck!” Steve shouted when Bucky swallowed him down. His throat was warm and tight and slick, and it was all Steve could do to not fuck Bucky’s mouth right there. His hips stuttered weakly, and below him Bucky gagged softly, pressing his nose into the few curls of blond hair on Steve’s pelvis.  
  
There was _no fuckin’ way_ Steve was Bucky’s first. He knew Bucky got along well enough with the ladies, but he’d never heard anything about any fellas. A part of him knew that he was probably only one in a long list of others, but he still hoped that this might have been something Bucky shared with only him.  
  
His friend hummed and swallowed, and Steve was seeing stars. He fisted his hands in the sheets, but when Bucky made a sound in protest, he moved them to grip at Bucky’s hair. Giving him a quick tug Steve said, “God, Buck, _Jesus_. You feelin’ so good. _So good._ ”  
  
He was pliant under Bucky’s touch, boneless and willing. Bucky’s hands moved from his hips where they were holding Steve in place and went farther down Steve’s body. His left hand wrapped around the base of Steve’s cock where Bucky couldn’t quite reach anymore, and the other bent Steve’s right leg over his shoulder. He trailed his fingers down the back of Steve’s thigh and paused when he got to Steve’s ass, pressing two fingers against the soft spot behind his balls that had him seeing stars.  
  
“F-uck,” Steve panted, a sheen of sweat forming on his body. “Buck, I can’t, _I can’t._ ”  
  
Bucky seemed to know what Steve was trying to say, because a second later he was pressing a finger against Steve’s asshole and sucking hard on his dick. “Shh, sweetheart, I know,” he said. “‘M gonna take care of you, baby.” He wasn’t pushing himself in, which probably wouldn’t have been all that pleasant, considering his finger was dry and Steve was virgin-tight. So Bucky just applied pressure, teasing and circling his rim. Steve came with a silent cry, his mouth open and his body spasming. Bucky talked him through it, his voice low and sweet. He’d never come this hard in his life; not a single one of his fantasies could even come close to the real thing, especially not when the other person was Bucky.  
  
And God, _Bucky_. Some of Steve’s release had trickled out of the side of his mouth, and he stuck out his tongue, eagerly lapping it up. He looked absolutely wrecked, sex hair and face flushed and cock an angry red from the complete lack of attention. Steve felt a little bad about that, but it was honestly hard to feel anything when he was so fucked out and boneless from his own orgasm.  
  
“C’mere,” Steve said, tugging on Bucky’s hair. He went willingly, and moaned when Steve pressed a lazy kiss on Bucky’s lips. “Can I touch you?” Steve asked, his voice gentle even as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below Bucky’s ear. He hoped Bucky couldn’t hear the nervousness in his own voice. He’d never done anything like this before; sure, he’d kissed a lady or two, and he’d touched himself often enough, but this? This was frighteningly new.  
  
“Fuck, yes, please,” Bucky was panting hard, his chest heaving and his skin slick with sweat.  
  
Steve knew this would go better with some vaseline or something, but he didn’t think he had any in the room. So instead, he pressed his fingers to his lips and pushed them in gently, sucking and lapping at them to get them nice and wet. Bucky just stared at Steve in awe. Steve squirmed, his stomach tightening pleasantly from Bucky’s adoring stare.  
  
Finally, Steve pulled back, the air cold against his wet hand. He reached down between their bodies and gripped Bucky’s cock, hard and thick in his hand. He started to move slowly, his strokes tight and long, his knuckles brushing against his own stomach with every tug. Bucky groaned hotly and buried his face in Steve’s neck, small whimpers escaping him every time Steve ran a thumb over his slit.  
  
“You doin’ good, Buck?” Steve asked, his other hand moving to rub small circles into Bucky’s shoulders.  
  
“Mmm,” was all Bucky said, the sound muffled where his face was pressed against the sheets.  
  
Steve sped up his pace and twisted a few times on the upstroke, which he found really got Bucky going. After only a few seconds at that speed, Bucky was tensing all over and spilling across Steve’s hand, shouts of pleasure echoing across the small room.  
  
They stayed just like that for a few moments, legs intertwined, chests pressed together, Steve’s hand still on Bucky’s softening cock. They were content to just breath the other in, the room smelling of sex and sweat and each other.  
  
“Good?” Bucky mumbled after a while, nuzzling Steve’s neck.  
  
“Real good, Bucky.”  
  
“Less stressed?”  
  
Steve outright laughed at that. He bumped his nose against Bucky’s and leaned in for a kiss. He tasted himself on Bucky’s lips. “Yeah, Buck. ‘M alright.”  
  
“Good,” Bucky repeated, snuggling against Steve’s side and pulling him closer. They were a mess, damp sheets and dried come on Steve’s hand and Bucky’s stomach, but Steve really didn’t care in the moment, and he doubted Bucky did either.  
  
After a while, Steve asked, “Would it be totally weird if I asked for the English notes right now?” Bucky smiled against his skin.  
  
“Maybe just a little,” Bucky said, laughter in his voice.  
  
A comfortable silence fell over them then, and they just laid there together, occasionally stealing kisses or running a hand down the other’s side. When Steve leaned back to look at Bucky, his friend’s eyes were closed in sleep and his breaths were soft and warm against Steve’s skin. He felt wanted, safe, and it was the best he’d been in a long, long time.  


4\. 1938  
  
After the service, Steve spent the afternoon at her grave, sitting in the freshly laid dirt and staring at the tombstone with wet eyes.  
  
He just couldn’t believe it. His ma had been such a constant figure in his life, strong and loving and kind. And then she was just… gone. Just like that.  
  
Of course, it wasn’t really _just like that._ It hadn’t been sudden at all. She had fallen ill with TB after catching it at the hospital, and even after weeks of bed rest, she still hadn’t been able to shake it. They all knew it was coming. Didn’t make it any less hard, though.  
  
When the sun started to settle on the horizon and he still hadn’t moved, Steve felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He would know that touch anywhere, in love or in anger or in grief, and maybe even in all three.  
  
“Steve,” Bucky said gently, his voice kind and soft. “It’s getting late, c’mon.”  
  
Steve didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge Bucky had said anything. He just sat there, his fingers playing idly in the dirt.  
  
Bucky squeezed his hand, blunt nails biting into Steve’s skin. “ _Steve_ ,” he pressed, “We gotta get you home. _Come on._ ”  
  
The slight pain from Bucky’s hand shook Steve out of his head, and he blinked once, twice, trying to get his bearings. He turned his head to look at Bucky, fresh tears glistening in his eyes. His friend sat down beside him and leaned against Steve, his presence warm and grounding.  
  
Steve opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Hot tears fell down his face but he quickly wiped them away with his sleeve. He wasn’t embarrassed to cry in front of Bucky, especially not after all of this. He just didn’t want his friend to be worried.  
  
“Aw, you know ya don’t gotta do that with me,” Bucky said, crouching down so he was eye-level with Steve. A new wave of sobs rolled over Steve, shaking his whole body this time. Bucky touched his knuckles to Steve’s face and gently wiped the tears away, then carefully leaned in and brushed his lips against the wet trails they made.  
  
“Buck,” Steve gasped, his hands pushing against Bucky’s chest. They were out in the open, in a _graveyard_ , for Christ’s sake. Anyone could see them.  
  
“You ready to come home now?” Bucky asked, his mouth nearly pressed against Steve’s cheek. “I’ll take care of you real good, Stevie. Promise. We can lay on the floor with the cushions like when we were kids.” He paused, pulled back and looked at Steve from under hooded eyes, lowering his voice as he said, “When everyone in town’s asleep ‘cept the people like us, I’ll give it to you real good tonight, babydoll, nice and slow. I’ll kiss it better, I promise.”  
  
“We’re on my _mother’s grave_!” Steve whisper-shouted, jumping to his feet and pulling Bucky up with him. His cock twitched in his pants, and he felt terrible, disrespecting his ma like that. Although a part of him knew she probably wouldn’t mind too much, as Steve had lost track of the amount of times him and Bucky had fucked while Steve’s ma was in the house, definitely within hearing distance. Steve loved her even more for that; she never judged, never told a soul. She accepted her son for who he was, and Steve was grateful everyday. Still, he really couldn’t believe Bucky was doing this here, of all the damn places.  
  
“I’d be happy to do this in bed if you’d come home,” Bucky teased. And yeah, okay, maybe Bucky’s antics were working, maybe just a little.  
  
But Steve… he couldn’t keep doing this. The casual sex, the late-night hand jobs. The feeling of jealousy and inadequacy when Bucky would come home smelling like some dame’s perfume or, worse, brought a girl home. Steve couldn’t do it, not today. Not after losing his ma. Bucky was the only thing Steve had left in the world, and he couldn’t bring himself to pretend like he wasn’t.  
  
“ _No,_ ” Steve said. Bucky’s smiled faded and his brows knitted together.  
  
“No?”  
  
“Bucky, I…” Steve trailed off, fisting his hands in Bucky’s shirt. His friend stepped closer to him, invading his space in what was definitely not a platonic way, but those worries didn’t even enter Steve’s mind. He stepped off his ma’s grave and away to the pavement, Bucky following closely behind.  
  
“Damnit, I can’t. I can’t keep _doing this_ ,” Steve forced the words out like they were made of broken glass, cutting up his throat and slicing his tongue. “All this casual fucking like it don’t mean a thing. It does, Buck, at least to me. _It does._ ” His heart dropped when he saw the look on Bucky’s face, all glassy-eyed and mouth hanging open.  
  
“I thought you liked it, Stevie,” his friend whispered, staring at the ground. He stepped away and folded his arms around himself. “What happened?”  
  
Steve didn’t answer, just tugged Bucky’s sleeve away from the row of tombstones. They were not going to have that kind of a conversation there. Not with the grief so fresh in Steve’s mind. They walked for what felt like hours, Steve silently fuming, until Steve found a bench in the park and sat down, his hands placed over his knees.  
  
Steve closed his eyes, tight, and sighed. “Do you even know what you do to me?”  
  
Bucky just stared at him from where he was standing a few feet away. “What,” he said, dumbly.  
  
“I love you,” Steve blurted out and, well, damn. At least he was being straightforward.  
“ _What._ ”  
“I’m not gonna fuckin’ repeat it,” Steve mumbled, a blush creeping up his neck. What the hell was he doing? It wasn’t like Bucky had any real feelings for Steve, at least not like that. He was probably messin’ everything up, opening his big fat mouth, and now Bucky wouldn’t want him, and he would lose the closest thing he would ever have to Bucky’s love and--  
  
“Are you _kidding me_?” Bucky cut off that train of thought. He walked up to Steve, knelt in front of him, The grass was probably going to stain his pants, but he thought it might be worth if it Bucky was about to say what he thought.  
  
Steve bit his lip and looked up through his lashes to see Bucky staring intently at him. Bucky’s hands covered his own and his thumb stroked softly over the cracked knuckles.  
“Stevie?” Bucky prompted, his voice soft and low. “You mean that?”  
  
Steve bit his lip and worried it between his teeth. “Yeah.”  
  
A small laugh escaped Bucky before he rushed forward and pressed his lips against Steve’s. Steve’s shout was muffled by the mouth against his.  
  
“Bucky!” Steve scolded, his voice low. He quickly looked around him to make sure they were alone. “We’re in public, you can’t _do_ that!”  
  
“What’re they gonna do, Stevie, huh?” Bucky said, his lips ghosting Steve’s jaw line. “Can’t put me in jail for kissin’ someone, can they?”  
  
_No,_ Steve thought. _But you could lose your job. Or get beat up. Or killed, if the wrong person saw.  
_  
But he didn’t say any of that. Steve pushed it inside. They were alone, after all. No one was going to see. Instead, he asked, “What about you?”  
  
“Whaddya mean?” Bucky said, pulling back to look at Steve’s face.  
  
  
“I _mean_ , how do you feel? About,” Steve paused, awkwardly gesturing between them, “about this?”  
“Steven Rogers,” Bucky said softly, his eyes gentle. Steve shifted where he was sitting, the intensity of Bucky’s eyes making him squirm. “I have loved your little punk ass since the first time I saved you from those bullies.”  
  
“What about all the girls, though?” Steve asked, suspicious. “And I know there’s been fellas, too.”  
  
“Those girls?” Bucky just shook his head, saying, “ _They’re_ the ones who don’t mean nothing. You’re always the one I want. Always.”  
  
“Fuck, Bucky,” Steve panted, Bucky’s words knocking the air out of him. He glanced around him and saw that they were still alone, then leaned in and kissed Bucky, hard and fast and breathless.  
  
Bucky too him by the hand and started pulling him towards the street, and Steve went along, needing to be in his apartment right now.  
  
It took them entirely too long, in Steve’s opinion, to reach the front door of his apartment. Bucky shoved his spare key in the lock and together they tumbled inside, the hot August air rushing in with them.  
  
As soon as the door was shut, Bucky was on Steve, big hands gripping his hips and lips crushed against the other boy’s. The kiss was rough and hard, bruising the sensitive flesh of Steve’s mouth. He stood there for a moment, shocked, before he slowly started to kiss back.  
  
Of all the times they’d been together up, it’d never felt like _this_. Bucky kissed with a purpose, and his hands pressed hard against Steve’s waist, reminding Steve just exactly who he belonged to in that moment.  
  
Bucky walked Steve to his couch in the small two-room apartment him and his ma had shared. He pressed Steve down on the cushions, his hands working to get both of their clothes off. The whole place smelled like Steve’s ma. So he kissed Bucky harder, needing to just _forget_ about the misery of the day for a few small moments.  
  
“Shh, shh, baby, slow down,” Bucky crooned, finally succeeding in getting them both down to their underwear. Their clothes were in a rumpled heap on the floor, and Bucky’s tie was thrown over the lampshade, but Steve really couldn’t make himself care even if he wanted to. Steve made a sound of protest when Bucky pulled away, needing his warmth. Instead, Bucky traced the bumps of Steve’s ribs lightly with this fingers, goosebumps rising on the smaller boy’s skin. Bucky leaned down and sucked a kiss into Steve’s collarbone, and he outright moaned at the feeling.  
  
It was only then that Steve realized he’d been crying. After the stress of the day and the confirmation that, yes, Bucky really did love him-- well, who could blame him for being a little overwhelmed?  
  
“Baby,” Bucky crooned, nuzzling Steve’s neck gently. He kissed the wet streaks Steve’s tears made on his face until he was just sniffling. “I’m gon’ take care of you, babydoll. Just relax. _Relax_.”  
  
And so he did. Bucky spent the better part of an hour just worshipping Steve’s body, pressing kisses against his skin and sucking bruises on the most sensitive places. Steve felt like he was floating. He never knew he could feel so good, and after a while, all the bad things of that day just melted away, tucked into the corner of his mind where they wouldn’t bother him anymore.  
  
Steve was so worked up by the time he was done that there was a wet spot of pre-come against his underwear. His thighs were shaking and his palms were sweaty. Steve gripped the fabric of the couch tightly, sure that if Bucky dragged this out any longer he’d be screaming Bucky’s name and ripping the cushions in two.  
  
“ _Auh, auh_ ,” Steve panted when Bucky rolled his hips against Steve’s.  
  
Bucky was gentle when he fucked Steve that night right into the couch, just like he’d promised, all powerful thrusts and long, passionate moans. Steve had to bite down on his fist countless of times, the need to babble nonsense rising to the surface. He made no sound when his orgasm crashed over him, just arched his back and opened his mouth in a silent scream. They were both shaking and covered in sweat by the time they were done, a tangled mess of bodies collapsed on the too-small couch.  
  
“Buck,” Steve said, his fingers working out the knots in Bucky’s short hair. “Bucky, I-- thank you.”  
  
“Steve, _God,_ just shut the fuck up.”  
  
“Not for the sex, dumbass,” Steve jabbed him in the ribs, a grin stretched across his face. “I mean, thanks for being there for me.” He turned to his best friend, the conversation gone serious. “You’re the only one who always was, besides ma. And now…” he swallowed thickly, willing the tears back down, “well, I guess it’s just me an’ you, now.”  
  
‘’Till the end of the line, Stevie,” Bucky mumbled and kissed the top of Steve’s head. Bucky’s hands tightened around his back, fingers leaving red marks in his pale skin. The moment was heavy and charged; they’d never really outright talked about their feelings for one another before that day, at least not past casual affections and sex talk. Steve shivered and tucked himself closer to Bucky, letting his friend’s warmth wash over him.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Yeah, Buck. End of the line,” he closed his eyes and sank into the comfort of Bucky’s body, letting himself finally rest in the other boy’s embrace. “Always.”  


5\. 1943  
  
There was a deafening _boom_ off to his left, something like an explosion. Steve felt the heat of it on his back and the muddy soil beneath his feet shook with the force of it. He sensed more than saw the shrapnel fly by him. Steve ducked behind a turned-over vehicle, protecting himself from the worst of the fallout.  
  
When his ears stopped ringing enough for him to pull himself together, the first thing Steve thought was _Bucky.  
_  
He looked up past the tree line, trying to see if he was in his sniper position. If he didn’t know where to look, Bucky would be invisible to Steve, but Steve knew that if Bucky was anywhere close, he’d be able to find him. Every time.  
  
The problem was that he _wasn’t_ there. And he wasn’t on the ground, either, Steve noticed as he watched his men try to regroup. Steve _knew_ he should’ve been out there, giving orders and seeing to the wounded or, god, the dead, but he couldn’t think past what had happened to his friend. And, if that made him the shittiest leader in history, then so be it.  
  
After a few moments of blind worry, Steve started to shake. Panic swelled in his chest. He couldn’t lose him, not again, not to something as stupid as a _fuckin’ bomb_ \--  
  
“Steve, hey, buddy. Hey.”  
  
The words were like a godsend, pushing past Steve’s blinding anxiety and blanketing him in a soothing calm. Bucky pressed up against his back and rubbed a strong hand over his arm, tucking his forehead into the back of Steve’s neck.  
  
Steve turned them around, letting himself drop his head into the dip in Bucky’s neck.  
  
“Fuck. You okay?” Bucky asked, his voice strained.  
  
“Fine now. You?”  
  
“Was picking off the bad guys when it happened. Barely even felt it,” Bucky reassured him, and it was definitely some of the best fucking news he’d gotten in a long while.  
  
Steve lifted his head and pressed his lips to Bucky’s. It was the first time they’d done anything in public since before the war. Even when Steve had rescued Bucky from that Hydra base, they had waited until they were alone to properly unravel. Now, though, they were desperate and needy and scared beyond their wits. Bucky pulled away all too soon, drumming his left hand on Steve’s chest while the other one was still rubbing soothingly up and down his arm.  
  
“I think some of the guys got hurt,” Bucky said, eyes darting towards the commotion. Now that Steve could focus without the blinding worry for Bucky, he saw how bad things were for them. He could see a couple of guys just laying on the ground, and he was pretty sure one of them -- Matthew, Steve though-- was trying to crawl to safety with one arm and a bloody stump.  
  
_“Fuck,”_ Steve swore, then turned and rushed out from behind the car and into the battle zone.  
  
*****  
  
“Steve, come on, look at me.”  
  
“ _Fuck_ off, Barnes.”  
  
“Damn it, Stevie,” Bucky said, anger and frustration in his voice as he grabbed Steve’s arm roughly, forcing Steve to face him. “This is _not_ your fault.”  
  
A bitterness flooded Steve’s mouth and he had the sudden urge to vomit, his head dizzy. He staggered back, breathing heavy, and glared in Bucky’s direction. “They were under my command,” he spat, his whole body tensing.  
  
“You couldn’t have known! No one knew a fuckin’ bomb was gonna go off,” Bucky argued relentlessly. He folded his arms across his chest. “‘Sides, by now you’ve saved at least three times as many lives as the thing took. That’s gotta count for somethin’.”  
  
They were standing in Steve’s tent, the flap sealed shut. Steve hadn’t even bothered to kick off his boots when he came in a few minutes ago, and he was still wearing his blood-smeared combat uniform. His neck and hands were covered in ash from when he’d had to put out a fire the damn bomb had started.  
  
Bucky was standing across from him, face red and hands balled into fists. Steve knew he probably shouldn’t be angering Bucky like this. Even though Bucky wouldn’t admit it even if he was held at gunpoint, Steve could see the way he had changed after Zola. More irritable, less functional. Woke up from nightmares in cold sweats, sometimes outright screaming. Fuck, he knew Bucky shouldn’t even be there, in the war, after what happened to him in Zola’s lab. But Bucky was stubborn and Steve was selfish, and the guilt just kept coming.  
  
“Innocent men died while I hid out and necked my goddamn boyfriend,” Steve whisper-shouted, crossing the small area in three long strides. He and Bucky were nearly nose-to-nose now, and Steve could see the fire behind his bright blue eyes.  
  
“You know just as well as I do that there was nothing you could’ve done,” Bucky’s voice was deadly low. “So get rid of you fuckin’ stupid-ass savior complex and accept that it wasn’t your goddamn fault.” Steve narrowed his eyes but stepped back, walking over to sit down on the cot. His eyes itched and his face was growing hot, and, God, the last thing he needed was to start fuckin’ _crying.  
_  
But after the stress of the day, Steve just couldn’t find it in himself to keep going. Men died on his watch. That had never happened before. It wasn’t like Steve thought him and his team were invincible, but… hearing about it and actually having it happen to him were two completely different things.  
  
Bucky was by his side in a heartbeat, hands gentle where his voice had just been rough. “Shit, Stevie, ‘m sorry.” He sat beside him, their bodies pressed together, Bucky’s hand rubbing his back. “Shouldn’t of yelled. But you gotta know, baby. What happened today? That was outta your hands. Nothing you could’a done.”  
  
Steve leaned into Bucky, his shoulders shaking. The change in Bucky’s demeanor had been scary fast, a well-practiced routine from all the years they’d spent together back in Brooklyn. Bucky always knew when to push Steve and could figure out when to back off. That was part of the reason Steve loved him so much. Bucky could always tell what Steve needed and made sure he was taken care of.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Steve sighed. He leaned into Bucky’s touch, who wrapped his arms around Steve. “My head knows that, but the rest of me just doesn’t want to believe it.”  
  
“Why, baby?” Bucky asked. He pressed his temple against Steve’s and his hand on the other man’s waist, drinking in his presence. “Why you always have to go and punish yourself? You’re a good man.” Bucky’s reassurance was affecting Steve more than he wanted to admit. “These things happen, and it’s no more your fault than it is the men who died. You gotta get that, babydoll.”  
  
Steve snorted. “You haven’t called me that since I was nothin’ but a twig,” he said. They both knew Steve was avoiding Bucky’s questions, but the other man didn’t press, just rubbed his hand against Steve’s side.  
  
“Hey,” Bucky chuckled, nudging Steve’s shoulder with his own. “That’s _my_ twig you’re talking about. ‘Sides, you’re still my doll.” He kissed his cheek, eyelashes fluttering against the sensitive skin of Steve’s face. “Always will be.”  
  
A comfortable warmth bloomed in Steve’s chest. He twisted his head and pressed his lips against Bucky’s. Their hands found each other by their sides and they laced their fingers together, Bucky giving a slight squeeze. In the kiss Steve opened his mouth slightly, inviting Bucky in. His tongue flicked across Steve’s teeth and he bit Steve’s lower lip, worrying it red before pulling back, panting.  
  
“I love you,” Steve promised, rubbing his cheek against Bucky’s jaw, enjoying the slight scratch of the stubble.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said. Steve leaned back and punched him, smiling when he said, “And I love you, too.”  
  
Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve again, sweet and soft and gentle. Steve moaned softly against Bucky’s mouth. Steve could practically _feel_ the smugness in his grin.  
  
They stayed like that for what might have been a few minutes to a few years, kissing and petting and drinking in the fact that the other was still alive and whole, despite everything. When Steve was with Bucky, he had no real concept of time. Or anything else that wasn’t Bucky, for that matter. He knew it was probably a little dangerous to be so attached when either of them could die at any moment, but when Bucky’s hand ran through his hair and settled against his neck, Steve really couldn’t help himself.  
  
After a while, they heard Gabe’s voice call to them from where he was standing outside their tent. “If you guys would quit fuckin’ long enough, we need to go over some plans for our tomorrow.”  
  
That was how it was with them. Not all the men, but the ones closest to Steve, the Howling Commandos. They knew full well the extent of Steve and Bucky’s relationship. No one really minded, but Gabe and Jacques loved having the opportunity to make filthy jokes whenever they could.  
  
“Be right out,” Steve said, and if his voice was raspy from their kissing, well. They knew Gabe wouldn’t mind.  
  
“You good?” Bucky checked, running one hand through Steve’s hair while the other gripped his shoulder. “They can wait if you’re not.”  
  
Steve gave him a small smile, then kissed him on the side of the mouth before standing. “Not going to say everything’s fine, cuz I know you’ll deck me for that shit,” Steve said, straightening out his uniform. “But I’ll be okay for now.”  
  
It wasn’t what Bucky wanted to hear, but it would do, at least until nightfall, when Bucky could take Steve apart like he really needed. Kiss him until he was dizzy, make love to him until he forgot his own name.  
  
Bucky stood up with him and took his hand. “End of the line, pal,” he said.  
  
Steve smoothed back his hair and smiled at Bucky-- real and warm and trusting-- before repeating after him, his eyes soft and bright. They walked out together into the cold Austrian forest, vows and promises of _more_ tucked away where only they could reach.  


+1. 2016  
  
They were making progress. At least, that’s what Sam kept telling him.  
  
Bucky had turned himself in to the government and what was left of SHIELD three months ago. He came to live with Steve shortly after, once he gained amnesty thanks to some of Stark’s special lawyers and a whole lot of damning evidence against HYDRA. Before, only God knew where he’d been.  
  
At first, things were okay. Bucky ate and drank fine. He showered regularly, which was more than what Steve had been expecting. He didn’t talk or sleep much, but if those were the only fallouts from his time with Hydra, then Steve would gladly take it.  
  
Nat was convinced Bucky would either run away again-- for good, this time-- or would try to kill Steve, most likely in his sleep. She didn’t trust that he could be anything but a weapon after what Hydra had done.  
  
Sam warned him that this period of okay-ness was bound to break. That Bucky was holding himself up for Steve’s sake, and he wouldn’t be able to do it forever, no matter how hard he tried.  
  
Nat was paranoid, and Steve knew it. She probably knew it, too, but all things considered, she had good reason to be. Sam, on the other hand. Sam was right. As usual.  
The nightmares started about a week ago.  
  
Today had been particularly bad. Bucky had gotten no sleep the previous night, kept up by violent memories of blood and beatings and deaths. Which, of course, meant Steve only got a few precious minutes himself. When the sun had peaked in through their curtains, Bucky had holed himself away in the spare room before Steve could even protest. Throughout the day, Steve knew to leave well enough alone. Still, he left food and water outside Bucky’s door, in hopes he’d start to feel better and eat a bit.  
  
“Buck?” Steve called from where he was sitting outside their bathroom. “Open up, please.”  
  
An hour ago, Bucky had crept out of his room and gone to take a shower, locking the door behind him. It wasn’t that an hour long shower was out of the blue for him. He’d only had cold hose-downs after missions for the past seventy years. So showers for Bucky were a precious thing, which Steve could understand. But locking the bathroom? That was new. And when Steve heard the loud crash of glass shattering, well, it was obvious then that something was wrong.  
  
It was silent on the other side of the door, nothing but the sound of water hitting against the tile of the bath floor. Steve’s head fell back against the wall with a _thump._ He ran his hands over his jeans, sighing. “Bucky, please don’t make me break down the fuckin’ door.”  
  
Nothing. Then, gradually, the handle turned and unlocked. Steve got to his feet and grabbed the metal of the door handle. He pushed in slowly, a hot cloud of steam hitting him in the face as the door opened all the way.  
  
“Buck?” he called out, rubbing at his eyes.  
  
“Here,” he heard him say, and when Steve looked around the room, his stomach twisted.  
  
The shower was still running. The mirror was shattered, glass shards lain haphazardly in the sink and on the countertop. Bucky sat on the floor, squeezed between the toilet and the side of the tub. He was down to his underwear, a thick piece of glass held weakly in his metal hand. Blood pulsed out of a wound on his thigh, pooling on the floor beneath him.  
  
“Shit, fuck, _shit,_ ” Steve swore. He stood there for a minute, speechless, hands clenching at his sides. Then Bucky brought the glass down on the bleeding flesh and deepened the wound, and Steve lurched forward, his head spinning.  
  
He tore the weapon from Bucky’s hand easily, the man beneath him pliant. From blood loss or just lack of caring, Steve wasn’t sure, and didn’t really want to know. He yanked the brown towel down from the rack and bunched it up, placing it on the large gash in Bucky’s thigh. Steve pressed down and swallowed the curses that threatened to rise up when blood soaked the towel.  
  
“How deep?” Steve asked, his voice wracked with worry. There were goddamn arteries right near where he’d cut, ones that Steve wasn’t sure if he’d be able to heal before Bucky bled out. When Bucky just stared past him, eyes glassy and unseeing, he shook his friend and shouted, “ _How deep?!_ ”  
  
“Not enough to kill me, apparently,” Bucky said, his voice completely monotone.  
  
“Fucking hell,” Steve shook his head. Then, looking up at Bucky, he asked, “Can you hold this here for me? Please? I need to get the first-aid kit.”  
  
Bucky nodded slowly, then moved his hands to hold the towel in place. It was only then that Steve noticed the scratches on his arm, too. Those were rough and shallow, though, more bruises than anything. They looked almost as if they’d come from a blunt object. Maybe something like metal fingers, Steve thought. As soon as Steve returned with the kit in hand, Bucky dropped his arms to his sides and slouched down further against the wall. His eyes started to close, but Steve grabbed his chin roughly, forcing him to stay awake.  
  
“Nuh-uh. None of that. You’re not dying on me today.”  
  
Steve went to work, carefully cleaning out the wound. He expected Bucky to fidget or even wince, but he was passive as ever. Steve reached back into the box, deft fingers threading a needle. He brought it against Bucky’s skin and started to stitch him up, blood leaking out of the sides when he pinched the skin together.  
  
All the while, Steve was whispering small words of encouragement. “Shh, sweetheart, you’re okay,” and “It’s gonna be alright, baby. I got you.”  
  
He couldn’t help himself. Bucky had never tried to hurt himself before, as far as Steve knew. No matter how bad things got, his self-preservation was always there. Steve had seen it when Bucky had avoided capture for months after Hydra’s fall; it was there every time Bucky battled with a memory or a nightmare and brought himself back to the surface, fighting off the instincts implanted in him by Hydra. Steve wasn’t sure if his friend had been trying to actually kill himself or just injure, but either way, it scared him shitless.  
  
When he was finished closing the wound, he dabbed some antibiotic cream over the stitches and placed a bandage on top. He knew it was probably overkill, considering it would heal on its own within the next few days, but taking care of Bucky was cathartic. Especially when he actually needed it.  
  
Steve relaxed a bit once he knew Bucky wouldn’t bleed out on their bathroom floor. He gently took the man’s flesh hand in his and looked at Bucky with sad eyes. He cleaned the scratches on his arm and rubbed his fingers over the bruises.  
  
God, _Bucky._ He was still unresponsive, body lax against the side of the tub. Steve grabbed him under his shoulders and lifted, Bucky stumbling to his feet.  
  
“Bedroom,” Steve prompted quietly, carrying more than guiding Bucky out of the bathroom, down the fall, and straight to their room. Before he could even pull back the covers, Bucky fell on the bed and curled in on himself.  
  
“Shit,” Steve cursed. He felt weary from the past few minutes, the anxiety and stress finally catching up to him. He turned away from Bucky, not wanting his friend to see his face. He knew that Bucky got even more low when he thought he was causing Steve pain. So instead, Steve distracted himself by finding another blanket to put on top of Bucky.  
  
Steve snatched one Nat knitted for them a few weeks ago off the chair in the corner and draped it over Bucky. Steve smoothed his hand over his face, eyebrows creasing when he didn’t respond at all. Steve then turned to leave the room, maybe call up Sam or Clint, someone who would know what the fuck to make of the situation. But before he could leave, Bucky called out to him.  
  
“Steve,” he said in a small voice, “Please don’t leave me.”  
  
And, damn, if that didn’t break Steve’s heart. He turned and just stared at Bucky for a moment, taking him in. He was laying on his side, knees pulled against his chest. The blanket covered him up to his waist, and in the dim light, Steve could see the way the scars on his shoulder shimmered in the moonlight. His face was pressed into a pillow, and by the sound of his voice, Steve figured he’d been crying, too.  
  
Steve didn’t even reply, just hurried back to their bed and slipped in next to Bucky. When he was lying next to him he shimmied out of his pants and shucked off his shirt, knowing how much Bucky loved skin-on-skin contact. Once, Bucky had said that Steve was the first person to touch him kindly in 70 years, and that was all the explanation Steve needed, really.  
“This okay?” he asked, pressing his body against the other man’s, draping his left arm across his side.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled before turning and burying his face in Steve’s chest. “‘M sorry,” he whispered, choking on his words. “I just-- it was too _much_. I felt like I was dyin’. Couldn’t breathe.”  
  
Steve nodded and tightened his grip on Bucky.  
  
“I wasn’t--” Bucky hiccuped, tears falling freely now. “Wasn’t gonna off myself. Just needed _somethin’_. I’m sorry, I’m-- I’m _sorry_.”  
  
“Hey,” Steve interrupted, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s lips to stop him from working himself up again. “It’s alright.”  
  
Steve stroked Bucky’s hair, working out the knots with this fingers. He kissed the top of his head gently, his lips brushing Bucky’s hair when he spoke. “You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for. Just, God, Bucky, _please,_ ” Steve said, tugging on Bucky’s hair just enough so he would meet his eyes. “Tell someone next time, okay? Doesn’t even have to be me. And we won’t press you. Just don’t hurt yourself,” Steve pressed himself closer to Bucky, saying, “I can’t take it.”  
  
Bucky nodded against Steve’s chest.  
  
They fell into a comfortable silence, both of them drifting in and out of sleep for the next few hours. Bucky woke up in a fit once, but Steve was quick to calm him down, making sure he didn’t tear any of the stitches or get too overwhelmed again.  
  
“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, after a while, “for everything.”  
  
Steve smiled gently, slowly opening his eyes, still groggy from sleep. He pulled Bucky closer to him, rubbing his hands down Bucky’s back. “I’m always with you,” Then, as an afterthought, “‘Till the end of the line.”  
  
“You’re a sap, Rogers,” Bucky said, and Steve thanked any god who would listen that Bucky seemed to be doing better than how he was last night.  
“Mmm.”  
  
Bucky found Steve’s hand and laced their fingers together, flesh-on-flesh. He twisted his legs with Steve’s and shifted against him, resting his head on Steve’s chest. Before long, Steve felt his breathing slow back into the calmness of sleep.  
  
And he followed, just as he always did.

**Author's Note:**

> woo hoo! Hopefully everyone enjoyed it :) if you feel like it, please leave kudos or even comments, they really do make my day!!
> 
> Come join me on tumblr at samwilsonn. We can cry about dogs and gay superheroes.
> 
> And a huge thanks to my stevebucky sin party: teambucky, gentlerey, soldiercaptain, and barnescap. Love you guys!


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